


Wind Sweeps You Off Your Feet: Josie's Tale

by JJBashir



Series: Wind Sweeps You Off Your Feet [3]
Category: WWE/F, World Championship Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/F, Just a lot of unresolved, Unrequited Love, Unresolved Emotional Tension, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-07
Updated: 2017-03-07
Packaged: 2018-09-30 14:27:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10164980
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JJBashir/pseuds/JJBashir
Summary: Josie's not nearly as perfect as she seems. The story from Josie's POV





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> When Drops of Jupiter started coming out, things quickly got out of hand, and there had to be a way to fill in all the blanks without writing one HUGE mega story...so the solution became to write 1st person commentaries between sections of the big story was the best way to go. These little commentaries will be dropped in at certain points, from our three protagonist's POV, to help clarify the action going on 'off-page' as it were.

_And tell me did the wind sweep you off of your feet_   
_Did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day?_   
_And head back to the Milky Way_   
_\--Train, Drops of Jupiter_

 

I'm confused.

I don't even know how I got this confused.

I mean, how on earth can I be in love with two men at the same time?

So different, they are. Shane, his dark, smoldering eyes and hair, skin like marble. Chris with his long golden locks and eyes of crystal, warm and tan like a Montgomery evening in July.

 

My boss and my best friend...and I have inappropriate feeling for them both.

 

It's not easy for me to admit that. I hate making mistakes.

 

Where to start? The beginning perhaps.

 

I met Shane and Chris within a week of each other. I liked Shane (Mister McMahon, I called him then) from the start. He was cocky, but not TOO cocky, and polite and all the things a young giant in industry should be. He was smart, he recognized my intelligence, and had the sense to use it.

 

I did NOT like Chris (Mister Irvine/Jericho) at all the first time we met. He WAS cocky---way too cocky. Then again...when you look like Christopher Irvine, you can be THAT cocky.

Don't get me wrong. Shane is beautiful, with those brown eyes and that baby face. But, Chris Irvine-and if you ever EVER tell him I said this, I'll deny it...

 

Christopher Irvine is a walking wet dream.

 

That must have been the reason I hated him so much to begin with. Walking in for his meeting with Mister McMahon with that smug sexy smirk on his face, dressed in grays and blues (to bring out those bedroom blue eyes), and leaning against the wall, irritated me. So when I saw the light on the phone console go off, I said, just a little too loud, "Mister Irvine, Mister McMahon will see you now," and I was shocked to see him jump a mile. As he went into Shane's office that first time, I saw him give me a sidelong look of apprehension.

 

Damned if I didn't nearly make him wet his pants. For some obscene reason, I was very proud of myself for that. I liked the power making that big man jump.

 

As the weeks went on and I learned more about my new company, I liked it. I liked my boss more and more every day as well, though I tried to fight it. Shane is a kind and generous person, completely different form the screen persona I had been used to seeing. It was hard for me not to want to play along with his pranks. I was murder on me not to join in the office bocce ball tourney, held in the hallway outside my door. To join in the Nerf dart wars that would overtake much of the entire building at times. WCW is fun. A lot of fun. I wanted to be part of that fun.

 

I have no right to have fun.

 

Ever since I lost my last job for having an affair with my last boss, I've been wary of fun. FUN brings your defenses down. Fun means that you have to trust people. I can't afford that in my life.

Steven Cooper...GOD, he was gorgeous! And incredible and amazing and all those things you read in romance novels. He of the chiseled jaw and the silky Southern smoked voice that dripped sipping bourbon and mint juleps on the family plantation. I was only 23 and newly hired at Jackson-Coe when I first met him. I was hungry for recognition; he was eager to give it to me. He noticed my work, placed me on several of the company's higher profile campaigns.

There was a team of us that moved together in the ranks: me, Phil Mercer, Petra Gould. We were good...'Mighty Damn Good', as the team motto became. There were several smaller teams of 'developers', people who cooked up campaigns and proposals, but me, Phil and Pet...we clicked. And Steven was our direct supervising VP. And he took notice of all those late night and long hours.

I was a workaholic then too, spending long, long nights at the office. When all you see day in and day out are the same group of people, you tend to grow very close to them. We all went drinking together every Friday night. We went to the kids' christening and bar mitzvahs and baseball games. We took each other shopping and on dates when we got too lonely on a Friday night.

It's actually pretty damned pathetic...I'll have Chris tell you the story. He makes me out to be much more sympathetic than I was.

 

Long story, short: I seduced Steven, or so I wanted to believe. I wanted him, and I made him want me...again, so I wanted to believe. And it was good. It was SOOOOOO good. The best sex I ever had. Did I care he was married? No. Did I care that his wife came to cry to me when she didn't understand why Steven spent all his nights at work? That I comforted her on the same couch where I had intensely erotic sex with her husband not twelve hours before? Nope. I never hated Dawn. It wasn't her fault I made Steven want me. What she didn't know wouldn't hurt her. What I wouldn't admit to couldn't hurt me.

Or so I thought.

 

Ever heard the old saying 'don't play a player'?

 

After he took credit for a few of my designs and campaigns and I called him on it. Told him I may be his mistress, but I wouldn't be his whore. His response: he harassed me. He threatened me. I remember waking up in the middle of the night, clutching the blankets to my chest, thinking he was breaking into the house. I had the locks changed six times in six months. Finally, when I told him I made a mistake, that we should end things, he dragged us out to the bosses, told them I cried sexual harassment suit unless he agreed to sleep with me, and then made his life hell. That's when I was given the choice to 'resign' from Jackson-Coe or to be bodily removed from the premises.

Which would you have chosen?

Not many people know the real story. Phil and Pet and the others, they think that it was the other way around. That Steven seduced me, that I was the innocent party. Even Dawn called to comfort me, telling me that it wasn't the first time Steven had slept with a co-worker and it wasn't my fault they were getting a divorce. Me co-workers-my friends-still respected me, and they had no idea what I had done. I betrayed every single one of them and they never knew it.

I was the one who had to face myself in the mirror every day. I could barely do that. It was only after getting down to the last three thousand or so in my savings account that I forced myself to look for a job. I made it clear to the headhunting agency: I was looking for entry level only. I wanted as little reference to my Jackson-Coe work as possible. I was willing to be an exec assistant...hell, a plain old ADMIN assistant. I didn't want anything that would give me any semblance of power or authority. I wanted to be on the bottom of the barrel.

It was wrong, I made a mistake and I paid for it. Yeah. The indomitable Josie Donnelly FUCKED up.

Booker says it best: Don't hate the player...hate the game.

I was paying my penance for my lapse in morals as far as I was concerned. I hate Steven more for letting me revel in my perceived power than for anything else. He fed my need to be in control of everything around me. He played that harp like a virtuoso, sucked me dry for what it could bring him, and when I didn't serve his purpose anymore, he let me hang myself with my own rope.

So, when I found myself falling for Shane, I fought it. I fought it hard. It was for all the wrong reasons, I told myself. I wanted his money, I wanted the prestige of being the woman who 'caught' Shane O'Mac, I told myself. Not that I wanted this gentle, sweet man to hold me, to fall asleep next to me, or watch a movie on my couch, while he nuzzled my neck. Not that I dreamed about waking up in this handsome man's arms after a long night of tender lovemaking, or I could hear him whisper my name in my ear in my sleep. I was beyond such trivial concerns as feelings and emotions. I was the fucking Ice Bitch GODDESS. I was a worthless, undeserving of human kindness mess.

Where WAS Chris in this picture? Oh, we were sworn enemies. OK, maybe not enemies. Adversaries. I would spook him every chance I got. He was arrogant, he was cocky, and he WAS, oh, so hot, remember. I wanted--no, I DEMANDED his respect...and he wouldn't give it to me. Not without a fight. And it was a fight I gave him. I called him an ill-manner, uncouth ingrate more times than I know how to count.

I know it bothered Shane that he seemed to get under my skin so often, but I refused to let Shane intervene on my behalf. Chris and I had a relationship I understood and approved of. He was an arrogant blister on the face of life, and my purpose was to pop him and watch his insides ooze out.

Pretty picture, huh?

 

I get off on being intimidating, in case you have figured it out yet.

 

When I heard that he was getting grief from the other wrestlers, I made my displays of intimidation as public as possible. I made it my purpose in life to embarrass that man in as many ways I knew how. A day that Chris DIDN'T jump a mile in my presence was like a day without sunshine.

I accompanied Shane to some of the more important tapings, which I fought tooth and nail but he wasn't having it. One night as we getting ready to leave for the hotel, Shane asked me to track Chris down; he had a change in Chris's story line that needed Jericho's direct input. So off I went to find him. I wanted to sneak up behind him, but that damned Jeff Hardy snickered and ruined it. When Jericho turned around, he looked like the proverbial cat in the cream jug.

"Mister Jericho, Mister McMahon needs to see you right away. A storyline meeting." I smirked at the chuckles I knew I would hear from the others, watching him cringe as I said his name.

Instead, he smirked back at me. "Of course. Lead on, Miss D."

 

I came to a dead stop. I had not heard what he just said...I couldn't have...

 

"WHAT did you just call me?" I knew he heard the outrage in my voice. How dare HE? How DARE he use that tone of voice with ME?

He snapped his fingers repeatedly. "Come on, Miss D. Not nice to keep the Boy Wonder waiting." He stepped past me with a bounce in his step and a smirk on his face the size of Texas.

Oh, it was war after that. War on Jericho.

For MONTHS.

I stuck it to him every chance I got. Accidentally scheduling his meeting with Shane when I KNEW he had some 'personal' matter to attend to. Signing off on only the bare minimum for his expense bills, so he would have to go over to finance and explain his mini-bar charges. I made sure he knew that Mister McMahon was VERY concerned with his top star...and had asked me to personally attend to any ISSUES that Mister Irvine might have.

For some reason, he seemed to gain strength from teasing me in front of the others. That's what surprised me about an incident that happened. I was backstage at a Saturday Night Nitro taping, pouring over the Nielsen ratings, wondering why a trend that Shane had SWORE would work in our favor wasn't. With my marketing skills, I should have predicted it...

"You're reading that wrong," I heard.

"Look, Mister Jericho," Started to say, but he plucked the sheet out of my hands.

"Trying to figure out why the Chavo/Kanyon storyline isn't working?" he asked.

I nodded glumly.

He pointed to a few figures. "We're trying to tap into it on the wrong night," he said. "We still don't have the strength to go up against WWF on ANY night."

"Heat," I sighed. I missed it. Shane and I both missed it.

Chris shrugged. "Well, the degree comes in handy."

"Degree?"

"Journalism." He smirked. "I'm not just a pretty face, Miss D. See ya."

I watched him walk away and I was moderately floored. I knew about most of the other wrestlers...but almost nothing about my nemesis. So, I snuck into the office one Saturday afternoon, pulled out Chris' file and read it from start to finish. It impressed me. It impressed me a lot.

From then forward, the nights that I didn't go to tapings, I watched the show...but I TAPED it if Jericho was wrestling.

 

PLEASE don't tell Chris. He'll be even more unbearable.


	2. Chapter 2

You know about SummerSlam.

 

By then, I was so in love with Shane, it was driving me insane. It's hard not to fall for Shane McMahon, with those puppy dog eyes of his and that adorable baby face. I know he's over thirty, but he doesn't look a day over twenty and he has such a lust for life and LIVING, that it's infectious. You can't help but see things a little bit brighter, a little bit sunnier,  
when Shane is around and in a good mood.

His concern for his employees is unique. I know that I am one of the only people in the entire office to call him 'Mister McMahon' on a regular basis. Even the security guards and the cleaning crew call him Shane. And he greets each of them with that boyish grin and a heartfelt 'whazzup?'

 

When 'Shane O'Mac' is in the house, life is good. Life is very good.

 

We were all working crazy hours by the time SummerSlam came around, getting cranky and snapping at each other. He had put me in charge of finalizing print ads and TV spots, and even though I enjoyed flexing creative muscles I didn't think I'd ever use again, the strain was telling. I was back in my workaholic mode...in at 7:30 in the morning, out after 9 PM. And Shane usually beat me in the office in the A.M. and kicked me out at night.

The attacks from the WWF and the ECW got worse and worse. I was sick to death of finding Shane lying in the backstage area of various arenas. Thank God I kept up with my First Aide certification from the time I was high school, and I thanked whatever genius in my school district back home in Chicago for making it required for graduation. Not many people know how real those beatings were. They weren't done up extra for the cameras. Half the time, the cameras weren't even there. Shane wasn't the only person making regular trips to various ER rooms around the country. I saw the hospital bills for some of those people.

 

And who should come to my aid. Jericho and his buddies the Hardy Boys and Lita. I knew they were also being attacked. Shane had me increase security around them, but refused it for himself. I argued 'til I was red, blue AND pink. Didn't matter.

 

That's Shane. Brave and stupid as the day is long.

 

They were tired of their boss getting pounded on. I was tired of my boss getting pounded on. This crazy foursome appointed themselves Shane's unofficial bodyguards. As usual, Jericho was the fearless leader. He ate it up.

 

Jericho does have a little bit of an ego.

 

For the record, I never liked the idea for the repeat street match. Shane is a very GOOD wrestler...he's even held two titles. But this--this was trouble waiting to happen. SOMEBODY was going to snap, and the scripted rivalry had already moved into the realm of real violence. I didn't want to see Shane hurt his father. I did every thing but fall at his feet and beg. I came closer in the month before SummmerSlam to confessing my feelings for Shane, just to see if I could use it as leverage to get him to stop this insanity. I didn't want to see Vince McMahon hurt his son. I didn't want Shane to hurt his father.

 

I picked the wrong member of the McMahon 'family' to snap.

 

The second I saw Shane get dragged out of the ring, I knew it was trouble. This wasn't part of anything. Then I saw WHO did the pulling. And I was sick.

 

No, I don't know what I was thinking. I mean, look at me...I'm only five-six, I weigh one-thirty or forty. YES, I have a black belt in Tae Kwon Do, but Triple H? What the hell was I thinking, I could take on Hunter Hearst Helmsley? Or Paul Levesque because that certainly wasn't any scripted anything going on in that ring.

 

I wasn't thinking. It was Shane...MY Shane getting murdered out there and I had to go get him.

 

In hindsight, not the most intelligent thing in the world to have done.

 

How I managed to do it, I'll never know. I don't remember the actual blows. I vaguely remember feeling my face getting cut open. But, leaning close to Shane, hearing him calling for me...that I remember. Vividly. He was going to die. He was going to die and I never got to tell him that I loved him. It may have been the first time I ever truly and fully admitted that I even cared for Shane more than as the person who signed my paycheck every other week. I couldn't leave his side. Not until I was sure, he was all right.

Most of the rest of that night is a blur. I don't remember a lot of it. I don't know how long I sat outside the surgery theater. NO, you usually don't need surgery for broken ribs...but Shane's lung was deflated; they had to re-inflate it. One of his ribs was practically shattered. They had to make sure that there were no bone shards in his chest. An errant one could re-pierce his lung, or worse, pierce his heart and kill him.

One of the few things I do remember from that nightmare seven hours turned out to be one of the most important things that ever happened to me.

 

I lost my adversary and found my best friend sitting there.

 

Damned if they weren't the same person.

 

"Jericho, I'm fine, leave me alone," I snarled. I was sitting an exam table in one of the examination bays of the ER, at the admonition of Linda McMahon, Shane's mother. Chris was my appointed baby-sitter. I ached. I was torn between wanting to go to the hotel and curl up in bed from the pain and going upstairs to keep vigil over Shane. What if he needed something? What if he woke up scared? What if I woke up scared?

Again, in my arrogance, I was the only person remotely capable of dealing with Shane's needs.

"Look, sweetheart, Mrs. McMahon gave me explicit instructions that you're supposed get the once over by the doc, and that's what I'm gonna make sure happens," he said in his cockiest, most IRRITATING voice. Chris leaned against the table. "Is it so awful, to be stuck in a room with the Ayatollah of Rock and Roll-a?"

 

I gave him another glare. I was satisfied to see him squirm. Besides, shouldn't he be out on the town, picking up God knew what kind of loose women and having his way with them? Paragon of virtue, my ass.

 

"OK. Let's rephrase that, shall we?" he asked quickly, correctly sensing my ire.

I sighed, finally giving in to all my own fears. "I'm worried about Shane, Chris. That's all." I wanted to swallow my careless, misguided tongue. In one sentence, I broke every single 'rule' I had given myself in regards to conduct. Conduct with Shane, conduct with my fellow employees, conduct with the talent. Everything. I knew he knew it. And he KNEW I knew he knew.

To his credit, Chris didn't comment at all on my lapse into familiarity. "We're all worried about him, babe. But, we gotta worry about you right now. Triple H laid you out pretty hard." He reached over and gave my shoulder a squeeze. "Who the hell else is gonna keep the boss in line if we lose you?"

I smiled, despite the pain, the situation and the person. "If nothing else, Chris, you're great for a laugh," I admitted. I needed that little chuckle.

Chris blushed.

 

That shocked me. I didn't know he knew HOW.

 

"I'd like to be more than that...a good laugh, I mean." At my confused look, he continued: "I'd like to be your friend, Josie."

I looked down at my feet for a while. I don't know what possessed me. I was tired and hurt. I had no real friends anymore; I had cut myself off from my old associates at Jackson-Coe. I was too ashamed to face them. And the one person I was sure would be glad at my discomfiture....

....was offering up what sounded like a truce.

"I'd--I think I'd like that. Chris." I sniffed. It was the closest to 'I'm sorry' he was ever going to get.

Chris looked at me. "You wanna tell be why the hell you nearly got yourself killed today?"

I blinked. "Irvine, what are you talking about?" He couldn't know. I was good at hiding how I felt. I had lots of practice.

"You could have gotten Matt or Jeff or Hugh or any of the other guys," Chris pointed out. "Hell, the security team, the refs, ANYONE else. But no--Miss Josie has to run in and face the big bad wolf."

"Because I can," I retorted. That's why I learned tae kwon do to begin with.

"Because it was SHANE," Chris shot back. "If it was any of us, it would have been wrestlers or security geeks. But, noooooooo. Only YOU can save your precious 'Mister McMahon'." I started to say something, but he raised one hand. "Shut. UP," he said.

 

OH, how I HATED him right then. Not only did he have me dead to rights...he was using his own cocky catchphrases to put ME in line.

 

How revolting.

 

"He's a good guy...what's so bad about admitting you have a little bit of a crush on Shane?"

"Because I don't have a little bit of a crush on Shane," I lied.

"OK, you have a big, fat, ENORMOUS crush on Shane..."

"I do NOT!"

"Then why do you blush every single time you say his name? 'Shane', that is, and not 'Mister McMahon'? Trust me, sweetheart, of all the guys to fall for, Shane McMahon isn't the worst one in the world," he said. "Look, loosen up with a little with him, will ya? Would it kill you to call him 'Shane' once in a while?"

I shook my head, visions of Steven flashing in my head. "I can't, Chris...I can't."

Chris looked down, and took my hand. "Whatever it is, kid, it's not that bad. Really."

"I--it's just--" I shook my head. I had lived with it for THIS long; I could live a little bit longer. I HATE depending on people; that's what got me in trouble before. I depended on Steven, and he betrayed me. I couldn't depend on people. I had proven that. I didn't deserve to depend on people. I was a selfish bitch. Hell, I probably wasn't any better than those supposedly loose women I had berated Chris for running around with in my head.

I looked at Chris again, his blue eyes wide with concern--real concern. I had forgotten what that looked like. I don't even know when the shift came in my head...from 'Jericho' or 'Irvine' to CHRIS. But came it did, and my doom along with it.

 

I hiccupped once. That's what always happens right before I burst into tears.

 

"Hey, it's OK, kiddo. Shhh, it's OK," Chris said over and over.

Did I mention that Chris has the best, the absolute BEST, safest, most secure embrace in the known world? He wears the nicest cologne and he's all warm and solid muscle and I'd never felt anything so good in my life.

 

And a little part of me started to say 'Shane? Shane WHO?'

 

I had to reassert my hard-nosed demeanor. "If you ever tell another single soul you saw me cry," I threatened.

He chuckled. "Secret's safe with me, Miss D," Chris said. "Look, I'm gonna go find that doctor and tell him what for. We'll talk later, OK?" Chris also has the uncanny knack of knowing when to come on strong and when to back the hell off.

I nodded my head, and watched him wander off. Actually, I was watching his ass in those snug chinos he was fond of wearing when he was out of character.

 

I DID mention that Chris Irvine is sex on the half shell...didn't I?

 

I immediately felt guilty. I mean, poor Shane was upstairs, still knocked out, gone through hell and back, and I was ogling Chris's ass. 

He came back with the doctor, and fussed over me. He held my hand while I got stitched up. He made sure that I got to write a note for Shane and left it with his mother. Then he drove me to the hotel and got me up to my room. He gave me his spare room key. "Now, if you need me, or if the hospital calls, you come find me, OK? Even if you just need to talk, you come get me."

I ordered him to stop babying me.

"Whatever, sweetheart. Promise you'll come get me, OK?"

I sighed and promised. He smiled...a very sweet and angelic smile and tweaked my nose. "Sweet dreams, giant-killer," he teased.

"Get out, before I reconsider this friend thing," I said seriously.

He chuckled wickedly. Then, turned back for a moment. "Josephine?"

I stared at him. Only my grandmother ever called me Josephine.

"In case no one tells you...you were incredibly brave out there." Chris looked at his feet. "There aren't many of us who would willingly take on Triple H. You did it without turning a hair. It was a gutsy thing to do...STUPID. But gusty."

I shrugged. "You guys would have done the same," I said. "If I had let you."

Chris smiled again. "Night, Josie."

"Good night...Mister Irvine." I giggled as he jumped. I shrugged at his glare. "One last time? For old time's sake?"

Chris shook his head as he closed the door.

 

I made my way to the bathroom, and soaked in the tub for a long, long time. I needed to think about today. I had risked life and limb to save Shane, but my thoughts were far from him right now. My brain was filled with visions of Chris, in all his incarnations. The arrogant Y2J. Cocky and overbearing Chris Jericho. The sweet and kind Chris Irvine. How could one person be so damned complex? I got out of the tub and dried off, my mind still torn and disturbed. I grabbed the first jersey out my suitcase.

Damned if it wasn't my 'Shut the hell up' one.

It was sheer irony that I was going to bed in a shirt designed the market the man I was having such mixed feelings about.

I tossed and turned for an hour or so. I looked at the extra key card on my dresser. 'Even if you just need to talk, you come get me...' I did need to talk. Desperately.

With my luck, I managed to pick up my own key card when I left. I knocked on his door. When I got no answer, I knocked really hard.

"Wha-comin', shut up," I heard a very sleepy voice call out. I felt horrid. Not only was I so pathetic to be on his doorstep, wearing HIS shirt, I had woken him up.

 

The door opened, and my heart went pitter-pat.

 

He was still in his chinos, with no shirt...and looked utterly masculine. He didn't see me at first, because he was looking right over my head. Well, he IS six feet tall, as are most of his friends. Then he looked down and smiled when he saw me. Smiled. Like I was an old friend, not someone he'd only just decided he wasn't going to constantly mock.

"Hi," he said quietly. He grinned when he saw my shirt, but to my surprise, he didn't comment. "Couldn't sleep?"

I shook my head.

"You just could have come in. That's why I gave you the key."

"I--I forgot it. I picked up mine and not yours," I admitted.

Again, no smart-ass comments. "Come on in," he said.

I looked around the room. Identical to mine. It was much neater than I expected it to be.

"You want a soda or something?" Chris asked, heading over to the mini-bar.

"Yeah. A Coke would be great," I said.

He came over with two cans of Coke, one caffeine free, one regular. He took the caffeine free. "Caffeine makes me grouchy this late," he said.

I shrugged, opening the can and taking a long pull. The bubbles felt good against my parched throat. "Thanks."

"My pleasure. Well, you haven't mentioned Shane, and I didn't hear any breaking furniture..."

"I--I just wanted to talk. I didn't mean to wake you up." I moved to leave, but he stopped me with a hand on my knee.

"Josie. You're not the kind of person who would coming banging on anyone's door...much less MY door...without good reason." He looked down at his attire. "Even if I'm not really dressed for company. Excuse me while I go change that?"

"Um, sure," I said. He padded over to his overnight bag and grabbed it. On his way to the bathroom, he ruffled my hair. He stopped, with his hand still tangled in it. "Y'know, I don't think I've ever seen you with your hair down. It's pretty." Then he continued on his merry way.

I shook my head in disbelief. Would wonders never cease? I toddled over to the window, snagging another Coke out of the mini-bar on my way over. I sipped it slowly, looking out on the San Jose skyline.

"Sorry about that," I heard. "Wasn't expecting company." Bless his soul...he was wearing a Boston Bruins jersey and grey champion shorts.

"S'OK." I said. I was more and more confused by the moment. I grabbed a chair and pulled it over next to the bed. Chris sat on the bed, legs crossed, sipping his coke. I pulled my feet up, so that my head was resting on my knees. YES, I was decent under my t-shirt...and for some reason, it didn't seem to bother me that Chris might get a flash of my panties. He'd been a perfect gentleman so far.

"I'm betting this has something to do with this crying jag the hospital," he started.

"I-I'm not ready to got there quite yet," I admitted. "I--what about YOU, Chris? What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well, I was getting ready to go to bed, when this hot blonde knocks on my door...sorry." He flashed me another dazzling smile. "What do you want to know?"

"Why wresting? You're intelligent, you're very attractive, you could have you pick of any anchor job you wanted."

"If that's what I wanted," he replied. "I've wanted this life for as long as I can remember. Hockey was OK, but that was my dad's game...not mine."

"Your dad played hockey?"

"NHL. This is his," he replied, plucking at the front of his jersey. He turned slightly so I could see the name Irvine on the back. "Water polo...well, no one gets famous playing water polo. So, wrestling it was."

"Because--"

"If you hadn't noticed, Miss Josie...I have something of a big ego--that needs feeding on a regular basis."

I wish I could say I was appalled, but as his story unfolded, I couldn't help but admire him. How many 15 year olds know what they want to do, and fifteen years later find themselves that the top of their chosen profession? Chris had guts, that was for sure. I laughed as he told me his first experience with a Canadian winter at four; his months in the Hart Wresting School; the tours of Japan and Mexico. And yes, the trail of broken hearts he left along the way. His own included...

"But, we're not here to talk about me, are we?" he prompted me. He stretched and shook his head, his golden hair flying. "Want another coke?" he asked.

"Yeah," I said. I had a lot more to think about now. Maybe...maybe I would sit like this with Shane, someday soon.hear about what made him into the person he is now.

"Here ya go," Chris said, handing me a coke. He had a bottle of water.

"YES, I will let you write this off on the expenses, by the way," I said.

Chris chuckled. And sat there. Sipping his water. Waiting.

I took a deep breath, and told him about Steven. I told him the TRUTH about Steven. Every ugly detail. And about Shane, about how much I was attracted to him, and why I couldn't give into it, because of what happened with Steven. Because of what I let happen with Steven. What I did to others for Steven.

Chris was quiet for a long time while I told him my story. He didn't say anything. He didn't interrupt. He just sat there, sitting cross-legged on his bed, taking occasional long pulls from his bottle of water.

"Will you SAY something?!" I demanded after I finished. "Laugh, rant, tease, condemn--SOMETHING!"

Chris looked at me, finished the last bit of water in the bottle and put it down. He sighed and reached out to stroke my stitches gently. "You poor kid," was all he said.

 

And for the second time in less than six hours, I burst into tears.

 

I couldn't stop them. I cried about Steven, about Shane, about the lonely empty place my life had become. I barely felt Chris pick me up, or put me on his lap. But I knew immediately when he wrapped me in that all encompassing embrace of his, because I was warm, and safe and the smell hit my nose...and it only made me cry harder.

Because the person I whose arms I SHOULD be crying into was in the ICU and what on earth was I going to do, because as surely as I was in love with Shane McMahon...

 

God help me, I could see myself falling for Chris Irvine too.

 

It didn't help with the crying. I just couldn't stop.

 

Chris didn't help either, with his head resting on mine, one huge hand stroking my hair, the other resting on my back, the thumb moving slowly up and down. His quiet voice cooing soothing words. After what felt like an hour, I could feel in the tears subsiding a bit. I'm not designed to cry. My nose gets stuffy, and my face puffs out, and I get all blotchy...I look horrible. I sniffed loudly and, before I could even open my mouth, a box of tissues appeared.

I couldn't help but smile as I took several and tried to fix the ravages of my face. I winced when I touched my right cheek, and what was going to become a permanent reminder of my stupidity.

"Excuse me for a minute?" Chris asked.

I looked up in apprehension as he lifted me off his lap and placed me on the bed.

He pointed to his jersey. "I just want to get this off before I catch my death from cold," he said. The right shoulder of the jersey was soaked. I was mortified. Not only did I barge in here, wake the man up, and proceed to tell him what a petty, bottom feeding whore I had been...I cried all over his dad's hockey jersey. I buried my hands in my face from sheer embarrassment.

Chris came back wearing a plain black t-shirt. "Feel better?" he asked.

"I feel like an ass," I muttered.

"We're all entitled," he said.

I yawned. With all of this angst off my chest, I was suddenly sleepy. I yawned again. "I should head back."

"Where?"

"To my room, stupid," said. Duh.

"You're not going anywhere," Chris said.

"Whaaaaat?"

"I don't want you to be alone tonight," he said. "Actually...you don't need to be alone tonight. I told Linda I was going to take care of you, and I am. Left or right?"

"Whaaaat?"

"Of the bed. Left or right?"

I was way out of my element. "Um...left?"

Chris smiled. "Oh, we're going to get along swimmingly," he chuckled, pulling back the sheets and blankets. He coaxed me into the bed and slipped in next to me. He clicked off the light, and the room was bathed in darkness. He rolled over onto his side, and wrapped one arm around me, leaning his head on my shoulder. "Steven," he said, "is an asshole, and you don't think about him anymore, OK?" Then he kissed my head and mumbled, 'G'night, Josie."

Confused was not an accurate term. Dumbfounded...closer. I don't think a word exists for the level of confusion I was feeling. Except that Chris was an empathic genius and he was right. I didn't want to be alone. And he knew I was too proud to ask to stay. So he bullied me into doing what I wanted to do. As I snuggled closer into that safe, warm embrace, I knew that one way or another, Chris Irvine was going to part of my life for a very, very long time.


	3. Chapter 3

I found myself being less hard on Shane. He still couldn't come back to work after SummerSlam, so I would stop by his condo before and after work to have him sign papers, go over figures and keep the company going. I learned a lot about Shane McMahon in those weeks. I learned that he has a wicked sense of humor. He knows this world so well...he knew that he was going to be running a sports entertainment company from the day he was born. And he resented it. Other people got to choose what they wanted to be...why couldn't he?

"It's in your blood, Shane," I said.

"I know," he admitted. "It wasn't until I saw my first ring that I knew it, though."

We talked about Vince. Actually, Shane talked about Vince. Shane ranted and raved about Vince. Shane cursed Vince in every way he knew how. Shane wondered mournfully why Vince wouldn't accept him and his need to strike out on his own. Shane loves his father. He loves him dearly. And he HATES his father with an intensity I've never seen in any person. I listened, much how Chris taught me how to when he listened to me. When he was done, he looked at me, sitting silently, waiting for me to pass judgment.

I just reached my hand out, stroked his cheek, and whispered, "You poor kid."

The result was rather similar to my own. Shane clung to me like a drowning man. I stroked his baby soft hair, cooed and shushed him. He kissed my cheek and stroked my hair, and I could have swore I heard him whisper 'luv you', but I wasn't sure. I loved him MORE, that was certain. The raised welt on my cheek proved that.

Oh, how Shane and I argued about that scar. He wanted to pay to have me go to some hot shot Beverly Hills plastic surgeon to have it removed. It wasn't that big...it was more that the cut had been so deep that it had been stitched, and the plastic surgeon that stitched it had used careful precision when she did it. I wanted it to stay. It was my own badge of honor. It meant a lot to me, that stupid little scar. It meant that I was willing to put myself on the line for what I wanted.

"Why do you want it gone?" I yelled at him one day. "What, does it make me ugly or something?"

Shane blushed six shades of red. "Josie, you could dye your hair more colors than Jeff Hardy and put a turnip where your nose is, and you still wouldn't be ugly."

"I need this stupid little scar. I need it to remind me that I can care about something and some---someone other than myself." She gave Shane a small smile. "This is my reward for not being the selfish, reprehensible bitch I think I am." She leaned over and brushed a few wispy strands from Shane's forehead. "I've learned a lot here, you know. Not just about wrestling, or the business. About people. About trust."

"I don't want to remember that you had to save me. I'm Shane McMahon, dammit."

I blinked. I didn't get it. I LOVED Shane. Why did HE have to be the one to do all the saving? I was more than capable of saving his ass once in awhile.

That's when I learned about SHANE'S ego and its need to be fed. But instead of being able to bask in the adoration of the crowd, he had to find different ways to feed it. He bullies people, he makes up those silly nursery rhymes.

 

Thank you, Chris. I never knew what a lamb among wolves I was, until we became friends. I began to understand all of Shane's little quirks, from my hours of conversations with Chris. It never made me love Shane any less...if anything, it made me love Shane MORE, knowing what he's had to fight to stay the gentle soul he is inside.

 

Shane would do little things for me, and then have to fight to justify his reasons.

Like the chocolate.

I LOVE Godiva Chocolate. Once a month, I would head down to the local Godiva Chocolatier and buy a precious two pounds of the stuff. Raspberry crème shells and caramel medallions and truffles...Irish cream and Kahlua and Grand Marnier ones. It was my little slice of heaven on earth. My little trip was even budgeted into my monthly expenses. I would bring a small box to work, and leave the rest home, to help console myself over yet another dateless Saturday night or an especially aggravating day at work.

One day, about a week after Shane got back to the office, a large specialty box of chocolates appeared on my desk. There was no card or note, but every one of my favorites was there. I wondered who would know me well enough to know, or even care what kind of chocolate I liked. I took the box home. The next week, there was a new box. Still no note, but it was early enough in the day where Shane's distinctive cologne still lingered in the room. I opened the box, and yet again all my favorites--with one addition.

A chocolate lion's head.

My brow furrowed. I knew the lion's head was meant as a ruse to throw me off the scent. That and Chris is FAR less subtle than that...but I wasn't about to let good chocolate go to waste. But THIS time, I emptied the chocolates into a bag, and threw the box into the trash basket. Shane spent most of the morning in his office, but when he came out for lunch he took one look at the waste basket and his cheery face darkened.

"Um, what's that?" he tried to ask nonchalantly.

"Some chocolate I found on my desk," I said in my no nonsense voice.

"What's it doing in the trash?"

"I hate chocolate," I lied.

"So, you threw away a fifty dollar box of candy?" he asked.

Shane was so adorable playing the mark. "I didn't think they were that much money," I lied some more. I know exactly how much that box costs, and I could only afford to buy myself ONE box a month. "You wouldn't happen to know WHO bought that box, did you?"

"Um...I think I saw Jericho in here early this morning...maybe it's part of the truce package," Shane said. "You two have been awfully...chummy."

Nice try, Shane. The chocolates stopped for a few days, then I made the mistake of devouring a chocolate chip cookie in front of Shane on our way to a meeting. He didn't say anything, but the chocolate was back on my desk when we got back. I repeated the same action-bag the candy, ditch the box. If it wasn't for the fact that I know the only reason Shane buys the candy is because he's knows I like it, I would be insulted at him trying to fatten me up. Every time he sees the box, we have the same argument. It's always Shane defending his right to be nice to me. He usually wins...usually.

 

Unfortunately, the part of me that was in love with Chris was also growing.

 

Exponentially.


	4. Chapter 4

Chris would never do little things for me.

 

Chris would do big, huge things for me, and I would just accept his kindnesses, because arguing with Chris is sort of like arguing with the tide for coming in or the sun for rising in the east and setting in the west.

Prime Example:

"Keep 'em closed," he ordered as he walked me up the path to my house.

"Chris, this sucks," I complained. I hate not being able to see where I'm going.

"It'll be worth it, sweetheart. TRUST me."

I snorted. "Not in this lifetime," I shot back.

He chuckled and I could hear the door being opened. I was being turned slightly. "OK. Open."

It took me a second to focus. In front of me was a state of the art entertainment center. DVD player with receiver, surround sound speakers, 4 head VCR, CD player, digital radio receiver, a 55 inch flat screen stereo TV, and what seemed like every CD, videotape and DVD disc ever produced.

"What the--"

"Happy Birthday, sweetness," Chris whispered behind me.

I turned on him. "It's not my..."

"I stole your drivers' license the other day, so YES, today is too your birthday," he said.

"But...but..."

"I know you've been wanting all of this," he said, waving his hand to gesture to the equipment. "Just thought it would be nice to have it all show up together."

"Chris, I can't accept all of this," I whispered. "It's too much..."

"Tough. 'Cause you are." He swept past me. "Besides, now we can do movie nights HERE too, and you can cook me dinner."

I snorted again.

He snapped his finger. "Speaking of dinner," he said. He pulled me into the kitchen, for the second surprise of the night. My small table was set with crisp white linen tablecloth and napkins, plates set out and a bottle of wine chilling in a bucket next to one of the chairs.

My eyes flew up to meet Chris's.

"I know, I know, you hate people making a fuss," he said. "But, I figured we could make today an exception. OK?" He kissed my forehead. "Happy birthday, Jos."

I didn't even argue. What good would it have done? He would have found another way to get all the stuff in the house anyway.

I sat and ate my birthday dinner with my favorite wrestler and didn't talk business. Afterwards we watched Nightmare On Elm Street, and I had to hold Chris's hand during the scary parts, cause he's a huge fraidy-cat. And of course, since he was going to have nightmares from watching scary movies, he just HAD to sleep over.

See what I meant about fighting the tide?

 

One night, we were all at a house show, we meaning Chris, me, Lita, Matt and Jeff, Rey, Billy, Konan and Shane. One of the fights went wrong...horribly wrong, and Chris, instead of being thrown off balance and landing on the turnbuckle then the canvas, flew BACKWARDS and smacked his head into the security railing. Except it wasn't that nice padded security railing we use during show tapings. It was old fashioned solid steel, and the back of Chris's head connected with it with a sickening thud I heard backstage.

It was SummerSlam all over again. I flew out to the ring, this time with Shane right behind me, medics in tow. I always seemed to know what's wrong, and something was DEFINATELY wrong with Chris. I grabbed his hand. "Chris? Christopher, ANSWER ME!" I screamed at him all the way up the ramp. He was out cold, and his eyes never opened.

Another hospital ER, another set of wrestlers and staffers sitting around drinking bad coffee and worrying about one of their own. I sat in a corner, with Shane's arm around me.

"He has to be OK, Shane," I said. "He HAS to be."

"He will be, Jo...Chris is tough.he'll be OK," Shane said. I let him kiss my head and hold me close to him. With my defenses down, I noticed how warm and secure I felt in Shane's arms. It was a different kind of secure than the way I felt in Chris's arms. I rested my head next to his heart listening to his rapidly increasing heartbeat. His hands were gently stoking my back, and his chin was resting on my head. There was nothing but comfort in that embrace, comfort that I needed badly enough that I was willing to take it from him.

 

What a twist of fate, to have Shane hold me the way I always wanted him to...and have the only thing in my head be "When are they going to let me see Chris?"

 

I could feel Shane's head turn. I had fallen asleep, but I woke the second he moved. He nudged me. "The doctor's asking for you, Jo."

"Um...yes?" I asked, trying to wipe the sleep from my eyes. "I'm Josie Donnelly, what it is?"

"I'm Dr. Harrow. Your friend's been asking for you."

We all sighed in relief. It had been so long since we had heard any news. "How is he?"

"He has a massive concussion. I wouldn't be surprised if he's seeing double at this point." Dr. Harrow stroked his chin. "Even for that, there is a good sign."

"What?" Shane asked. He was behind me, his arms wrapped around my waist.

"He described THIS young lady with disturbing accuracy," Dr. Harrow said. "Down to the scar on your cheek."

 

I blushed. What was it with the men in my life describing me right after near-death experiences? I was starting to get a complex.

 

"I think you'd better come see him," Dr, Harrow told me. "He refuses to cooperate with us until he sees you."

"Go on, babe," Shane said, giving me a squeeze. "I'll wait."

I patted his hand, and followed the doctor. "Hello there, flyboy," I teased.

"Hey," he slurred. He sounded horrible. He looked out of it. He reached out for my hand, and I took it. "Feel like shit," he muttered.

"Well, now you match how you look finally," I teased back. "Stop giving the doctors such a hard time and let them do their work, Christopher." 

Even being in as much pain as I KNEW he was in, he managed to give me one of his glowing smiles. "Yes, ma'am, Miss D," he whispered. He pulled my hand to his lips and gave it a gentle kiss.

"I mean it, Chris," I said. "You have to get better. You just have to..."

Chris's eyes tried to focus.

"Stop that...just promise me, you'll get better," I demanded.

"I--promise," he sighed.

I leaned down and kissed his forehead. "I'm holding you to that, Mister Irvine," I told him. "Be good."

"No fun," he whined.

I couldn't help but laugh. "Tough luck," I shot back. "Now behave and listen to the doctors." I could tell he didn't want to let go of my hand but he didn't have enough strength to keep me there. "I'll be back later, OK?"

He nodded, then winced. "M'head hurts," he mumbled.

"Idiot," I chided him fondly.

The doctor pulled me aside. "We have to choose. He has to have several staples in the back of his head, and he does have a concussion...but we also need to keep him on the pain medication. Percaset will make him sleep, and we think that might be the best thing for Mister Irvine right now. We'll have someone stay the night with him. If there are any complications, we'll call. He's got you listed as his emergency contact." That didn't really surprise me. I was listed as an emergency contact for a fair number of the roster when they were on the road.

I was rushed for news when I got back to the ER...I told everyone what I could. They headed off for the hotel. I was looking around absently. I had come in the ambulance; my rental was in the arena parking lot still. "C'mon," I heard Shane say from behind me. "I'll give you a lift." I was very quiet on the way to the arena to get my rental. I was trying to figure out what was happening in my head...and my heart.

Shane was every girl's dream come true: he was handsome, successful, rich, a (mostly) perfect gentleman, with a stellar family background and impeccable manners to boot. Chris was every mother's nightmare: a cocky, arrogant guy who knew he was good-looking....but with a heart of 24 karat gold inside. He was just a sweet and caring as Shane.but in a different way.

"He's going to be fine, Jo," Shane says as he drops me off. "Chris is tough...he's come back from worse than this."

"I know," I said.

"Look, I'm going to head to the hotel. If you need me, I'm in room 615, OK?" he said.

I nod. "OK."

He hesitated for a moment, then leaned over and kissed me on the cheek. "Get some sleep," he said.

I nodded dumbly as he pulled off slowly. I got into the car, driving without real comprehension of where I was going.  
It didn't surprise me in the least to find myself back at the hospital. I had a debt that needed repaying. 

I spent the night at Chris' bedside. I know I didn't have to. I wanted to. I didn't want him to wake up to a total stranger. I wanted him to wake up with someone who knew him and cared about him there. He would have done exactly the same for me. I laid my head on his stomach and held his hand and whispered to him that he was going to be OK.

 

Around about 3 AM, I heard a soft, "Jos?"

"Shhhh," I said. I brushed his long hair away from his face. "I'm right here, Lion Heart."

"Did I fall asleep?" He tried to get up. "I've got a concussion. I'm not supposed to sleep."

"You've also get five or six staples in the back of your head, numbnutz," I said. "Percaset makes you drowsy.the doctor thought it was better to let you sleep."

Chris sat back. "I gotta pee," he said.

I tried not to giggle. He sounded about six. "Come on then," I said. He pushed me away.

"Nu-uh. Go get one of the nurses...an OLD, wrinkly one."

I stuck my tongue out at him. "Prude," I teased.

After he was taken care of and back in bed, he asked, "What are you doing here? I figured you'd be comforting yourself in the arms of the Boy Wonder or something."

"And miss out on all of this?" I scoffed, gesturing to the dark room. "Never happen."

Chris chuckled. "Does he know you're here?"

"Nope. Our secret," I said, holding his hand.

"Josie, go back to the hotel?" he pleaded.

"Nu-uh. Besides, who were you going to call to spring you from here ANYWAYS?"

He thought for a moment. Then he got that look on his face...the one that he gets when he KNOWS he's licked. "OK, Miss smart-ass, you win. Just don't complain when your back aches in the morning."

I crawl into bed with him. "No chance of that," I whisper. "Night, Chris."

 

Would believe that was one of the all time BEST nights sleep I've ever had?

 

Since then, Chris and I have been pretty much inseparable. He keeps clothes at my house, and I do the same at his apartment. He calls me from the road CONSTANTLY...not that I mind. It's good to have someone I can talk to again...about everything and anything.

Besides, Chris comes with great benefits.

He has the best friends, with whom I've managed to let my defenses down enough to get to know me. I've been officially adopted by the Hardys, Matt and Jeff (or Rainbow Brite, as I tease him), and their manager, Lita. Whose real name is Amy, but I can't ever seem to call her by it, not to save my soul. They come and visit me when Chris and Shane aren't in town, they drag me out to movies and monster truck shows (YES...I like monster trucks. Shh, don't tell anyone), and they try and help with Shane.

Jeff and I are especially close. We're as different as night and day on the outside. Him with is ripped shirts and multicolored hair, me and my prim and proper pastel corporate raider attire. Jeff is a gentle soul, for all his high flying and wild antics, he has the true soul of an angel. He reminds me of Petra. Pet never lost that innocence in her eyes...even after all the years she's spent in the ad business, she still can face things with a wide eyed exuberance that is amazing. Jeff is very much like that and he has been a part in the healing my soul has undergone, along with Shane and Chris. I even introduced Pet and Phil to my new little family. Of course, they all get on amazingly well.

Shane...how my feeling towards him fluctuate. One minute, I'm madly in love, the next, I'm worried, the next. I can sense that there's something under the surface with him, especially in the last few weeks. He finally said thank you to me for SummerSlam...for helping him, and when his lips touched my cheek, my heart burst. His lips are soft, and he smells so good,  
and I wanted so badly to throw myself at him.

So I ran.

Guess who I ran TO?

 

I know that Chris doesn't love me...not like THAT anyway. It's the only thing that makes this remotely bearable, because at least I know that he can 't be an option. I love Shane, and I fantasize about Chris. Shane is Prince Charming; Chris is Prince Charming on acid.

Oh, who am I kidding? I love BOTH of them...and eventually, I'm going to have to choose which one I love more. Either way, I'm setting myself up for massive amounts of guilt.

Or, I make this easy.

I just can't let either ONE of them find out.

If anyone is going to suffer...then it should be me.

I deserve to after all...

 

 

Don't I?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> DISCLAIMER: The characters in this story are based on the on screen personas of the wrestlers who appear, and is not meant to reflect them in reality. Josie Donnelly is a pure original. The titles in this series come from the song 'Drops of Jupiter; by Train, and any lyrics are used without permission


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